About Me

Sunday, July 22, 2007

TT. And I don’t mean by Audi.

Today has been like the most unproductive day ever, but I’m lovin’ it. I seldom find the time to spend a whole day by myself, and I’m liking it.

OK, I hate it. Man isn’t a solitary animal, what can I say.

Being a dude is rather interesting. We don’t have to worry about a lot of things that women do, but at the same time we gotta deal with some things that, I daresay, wouldn’t ordinarily cross a woman’s mind. Like, in the mornings we shuffle to the bathroom feeling like tripods. Know how awkward it is to wake up in the morning with a woody? Then, we have to shave like every other day, are horny all the time, and have the irresistible urge to scratch certain parts of our anatomy at awkward times. Some of us can’t cook worth a damn, and would even burn water if asked to heat it up. Plus, we have to find the guts – or take 2 shots of Patrón – to holla at that vixen across the room giving us the eye.

Women talk a lot, they say. Au contraire, and interestingly, in a recent independent study, [whatever that means] women and men roughly speak about the same number of words per day, so that throws that notion straight out the water. Thing is though, both genders talk a whole lot more when the opposite gender isn’t around. It follows that men speak most when around other men, and women speak… you catch my drift.

Speaking of, I was recently caught up in a lengthy, and heated, discussion with the boys about – wouldn’t you believe it – breasts. To be more exact, it was all about how to tell the real ones from the ‘Made in China’ ones, and I must admit it was rather interesting that a good number of the fellas couldn’t tell the difference. Symmetry, positioning, angle and feel my brodas, symmetry, positioning, angle and feel.

While we’re on the topic, I’m sure lots of women wonder why men can’t help but stare at their breasteses. After several [well, numerous] incidents of doing so, I once decided to be a little scientific about it and, with the help of 2 other willing subjects, recorded how many times our gazes irrevocably angled downward every time we encountered a ‘specimen representative of the opposite gender.’ No lie, it happened almost every time, irrespective of race or age. It’s not so much gawking at the twin towers as it is acknowledging their presence, which is undeniable.

And where was I going with all this talk about breasts? I forget. Oh well then, I’m off to bed.